


Always, Unspoken

by maelpereji



Series: Michael & Dean (Michean) [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Michael is an angry over protective bean and it manifests in odd ways, michean - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:47:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maelpereji/pseuds/maelpereji
Summary: Of course, to love, to adore, is - sometimes - to be enraged.
Relationships: Michael/Dean Winchester
Series: Michael & Dean (Michean) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052072
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	Always, Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another one-shot I've dragged over from Tumblr! Michean, pre-established relationship. This was written to the prompt 'a kiss that conveys an emotion'.

Quiet creature that it is, Michael’s rage needs neither flourish _nor_ fanfare. It is known amongst celestial kind the way _all_ sleeping threats are: given no cause to rear, and spoken of only in the safety and silence of a _glance_ from brother to sister. Once stirred, it reveals itself - an insatiable, _pitiless_ thing, burning up all in its path by the flawless design of God’s Hand alone, consuming to no aftermath, but for that of scorched _,_ Holy Earth. 

But there _are_ times – few and far between – when it flares, primordial fires _stoked_ into righteous **w r a t h** , the likes of which all of Heaven _trembles_ before _._ Scarce occurrence though it is, and only summoned to lifeby nought less than cosmic events of blasphemous indignity. But still, the day comes ( _just_ as quietly as Michael’s rage does), when that anger, reserved for _war_ , for _Heaven_ , for the glory and pride of God, burns for one thing it should not.

**The Righteous Man.**

Dean Winchester holds the cosmos within a gaze greener than that of the promised pastures of paradise, but he also carries the double-edged burdens of the world itself upon his shoulders. _Too much_ for any man alone, with or without the solid, dependable presence of his brother, ever at his side.

Heaven itself dictates that _Dean_ does not matter; he was, and still is,a vessel, just an instrument, _perfectly_ _designed_ , through which Michael is (was) to cleanse his Father’s world of the sins of the Devil. But somewhere along the way, the Path itself had veered. _Unsalvageable_. Unspeakable. For his failures, Michael’s penance has been paid – so far as he knows, in full. But where not even literal Hell had been the makings of true fury within Heaven’s Flame, Dean, _now,_ is.

Something about this human – _selfless, warrior, breakable, strong, humble,_ _tormented_ –stirs the depths of the Archangel’s wrath. It is impossible not to be irate by the ‘devil may care’ attitude Dean wears for his own self-worth (of which he possesses none), or for injuries procured, or the way he tosses away his own wellbeing, yet another night of rest sacrificed to a hunt, or to research, or to torments out of his control. For a time, Michael burnsin silence; he makes do with snippy, tense comments exchanged back and forth, or eye contact, weighed down with unspoken words on bothsides.

But then, the anger itself begins to morph. To _veer_ off path - just the way God’s Plan had. That first simmer of flaming fury becomes not a wild fire, but a tidal wave of emotion breaking upon the shore of a sacred bank that _cradles_ Dean Winchester’s name in golden, precious calligraphy. Emotion - tremendous enough to shake the skies and all of Heaven itself - takes precedence, and (slowly, slowly, _s l o w l y_ ) anger becomes _concern_ , becomes _attachment_ , becomes _adoration_ , becomes ‘ **m i n e** ’-

-and each sharp word is paid back a thousand times over in physicality that has never mattered -never even _occurred_ \- to Michael before now. Before Dean. He learns – swiftly – that hands and lips are _just_ as much weapons as blades and words, and he wields them, effectively, and to Dean’s liking, because it is the only human method Michael knows of expressing emotion that he should not even hold, for this man alone.

Of course, to love _,_ to adore _,_ is - sometimes - to be enraged. Most especially when Dean’s haphazard lack of concern for himself leads to things he – instinctually, by habit – _hides._ A knife wound, a scrape that rightly needs stitches, bruised ribs, the passive shrug or airy wave of a hand when Michael enquires after his wellbeing. Mostly, he fixes Dean up without a word and a simple shimmer of divine Grace, but this time – _this time,_ when Dean passes off the gash in his temple as nothing, the bunker shakes. 

[ How **D A R E** this man, this _shining_ , burning beacon of every good thing that humanity stands for, how **D A R E** he hold himself within such pitiful, _wretched_ depths? ]

Before real fury can take hold, Dean is as good as new, all wounds - seen and unseen - gone, and Michael is a contained, albeit burning flame in his personal space, gaze heavy, but hands _gentle_ upon the face of the Righteous man. Like most things Dean doesn’t want to hear, Michael has learnt to convey with the press of lips alone. This kiss, feverish, stolen, lips slanted against Dean’s to capture the latter’s in a gesture both rough and soft all at once, is louder and clearer than any words could be - besides, it’s better this way. It always been the _unspoken_ between them. _Always,_ just the unspoken. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos give me life.


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